


Strip that Down for Me

by TheLoneMeme



Category: Red vs. Blue
Genre: Eventual Smut, M/M, Strippers & Strip Clubs, future grimmons, future tuckington, the stripper simmons au that literally no one asked for
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-12-17
Updated: 2018-01-05
Packaged: 2019-02-16 07:09:00
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,183
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13049058
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheLoneMeme/pseuds/TheLoneMeme
Summary: Simmons was used to feeling eyes on him at all times while he was working. He knew how he looked, had heard from enough clients that he was impossible not to watch. But Grif's eyes felt different, safer. If only he could be as flirty as he was on stage when he was off the clock. God damn his luck.The strip club au that no one asked for but here I am, delivering. Kai own's a strip club and, as in all of my au's, all of the rvb babes work there. Enjoy.*Title obviously taken from Liam Payne's 'Strip that Down'*





	1. People in the Crowd

Simmons was used to people staring. He was used to the eyes that trailed him as he moved around the club. He knew how he looked, wearing skin tight shorts and a pair of artfully pretentious sneakers. He knew he looked like a fine piece of ass, mostly because he’d been told by enough people that they wanted nothing more, would pay pretty much any price he set, to get into his pants. But Grif’s eyes on him felt...different. He could feel predatory eyes tracing down his spine, over the curve of his ass, catching on the twin scars across his chest. Every time he performed, he could feel the audience hold its breath, bated and anticipatory. But Simmons never fully stripped, had set that hard limit in his contract with Kai when they had written it. But Grif’s eyes trailed him around the club like they were waiting for him to put his clothes back on. Like he was waiting for Simmons to be himself again. It was grounding. 

Wash and North brushed past him as he sat on the lap of an older man, chatting happily about astrophysics and aerodynamics. It had been weird, at first, holding seemingly normal conversations while almost naked and under the multi colored lights of Kai’s nightclub, Gulch, but Simmons had grown accustomed to his regulars, who tipped him well and never tried to touch him when they weren’t invited into Simmons’ space. But North and Wash still circled the club, surveying, always near but never so close that they would ruin Simmons’ chances of earning decent cash. 

A hand on Simmons’ knee brought him back to his customer, whose eyes and smile were brightened by the whiskey in his glass. 

“Why wont you let me just marry you already, Simon? God, we could do so many beautiful things. I’d show you every corner of this earth.” He slurred, tipsy and overly indulgent in his offerings. 

Simmons smiled, his stage name bringing him back to his job. 

“You know I would, but who would take care of my cat if I just up and left? Someone has got to make sure Nova eats.” He laughed, leaning against the hand on this center of his back, putting his body on display to both distract his current client and attract new ones. 

“Oh Simon. I’ll adopt him. He can live in his own apartment in the hills. We’ll hire him a nanny, he’ll live in luxury.” The hand on his knee moved to his cheek, soft. 

Simmons extracted himself from the man’s lap, kissing his hand as he removed it from his face. 

“If only I could stay, you might just convince me. But I’ve got a performance in a minute. Promise you’ll be watching?” 

The man nodded, grinning and dropping Simmons’ hand. 

As he made his way to the stage door, Simmons felt Grif’s eyes on him again. He turned towards the bar for a moment, smiling when Grif very suddenly was extremely busy. Or maybe he had been busy before. Simmons never worked slow nights anymore, he raked in too many regulars for Kai to bother scheduling him on a weeknight. Curious, he made a detour towards the bar, sliding in through the swinging doors. South spotted him and waved him towards her end of bar, seating him in a corner and handing him a glass of water before turning back to her customers with a flirty grin. When she and Kai had first started dating, Simmons felt like he had missed something. He understood more the longer he worked with her. South was bright, open and warm in a way that soothed all of Kai’s brash enthusiasm. 

Grif appeared in Simmons’ peripheral vision, practically blocking out the rest of the club. He anchored Simmons when the lights got too bright, or the music too loud. Simmons closed his eyes and leaned back against the counter, only to open them a moment later when he felt a tap at his hand. Grif was standing in front of him, holding out a bowl of maraschino cherries, a shit eating grin on his face. 

“If you’re gonna lurk, you might as well play the part of the sex symbol you get paid to, Sim.” 

Simmons laughed and grabbed the bowl, popping one in his mouth. It felt stupid to pretend he wasn’t hungry. Grif could say it was him making sure Kai got her money’s worth all he wanted. Simmons knew better. He sat for a while in the relative quiet, hiding out. He had used his performance as an excuse to escape a conversation, so he had another five minutes before he even needed to be backstage. 

Once he finished his water, he set his glass on the dirty rack and slid out from behind bar again, waving goodbye to South when she smiled at him. Grif didn’t acknowledge his leaving, but he could feel his eyes on him until the stage door closed. 

 

****

 

Performing confused Simmons. He was so used to being awkward, too girly, too boyish, too much and too little all at once. But on stage, he felt bigger, more like a god than a man. The cash he earned didn’t hurt that feeling, to be fair. But after the club closed its doors and Simmons was freshly showered and dressed in sweats and an old tee shirt, he felt more honest than he did on stage. 

Wash and North were leaning against the bar, looking relaxed for the first time since the club had opened. Simmons was grateful. They were excellent security, and he wouldn’t work this job if their positions were filled by anybody else. Wash spotted him from across the empty dance floor and waved him over. 

“You kicked ass tonight, Simmons. Damn. Even I was watching when I was on the floor. Nice work.” South said as he sat down at a barstool. She slid him a beer. 

“Did you see Church’s number though? Because even I was impressed.” Simmons countered, smiling over the top of his glass. 

Wash laughed, raising his glass. “To Church’s ass.” He saluted, and Simmons mirrored him and took a drink. 

Grif, seemingly following the noise from his coworkers, appeared behind the bar with a case of vodka in his arms. Simmons didn’t miss the way his forearms flexed as they held up the weight. 

Simmons raised his glass in greeting, but was ignored. Cool. Great. South shot him a sorry look, but not a pitying one. She was dating Grif’s sister, after all. The siblings were more alike than they liked to admit. 

“Shouldn’t you all be out of here by now?” Grif asked, wiping down the bar and setting coasters under their glasses. 

Simmons flushed pink around the ears, careful to place his glass down without the condensation dripping. He looked at Wash, whose face had gone a little stormy at the dismissal. 

“We like hanging around after close, Grif. It’s nice to actually  _ see _ our coworkers, you know. Not all of us like to hide behind the bar all night.” Wash’s tone was light, but the look he threw Grif’s way was not. Simmons felt anxiety curling in the pit of his stomach at the thought of confrontation. 

Church came out on stage then, sauntering in like the asshole he was. His tights black jeans and fitted flannel left little to be imagined, and along with the anxiety came jealousy. Simmons’ body was only beautiful when it could be objectified. He tried to ignore the way that Grif’s eyes trailed down Church’s body as he walked up to the bar. Grif yelped, though, and South’s shit eating grin meant that while Simmons had tried to ignore it, South wasn’t going to let him feel bad about it. 

Church slung his arm around Simmons’ shoulders, pressing them close at the sides. He smelled like tequila and a slew of bad decisions. 

“Jesus, Church. How much have you had to drink?” North asked, leaning around Wash to get a good look at his friends slumped form. Simmons tried not to panic at being pinned against bar. His made a fist in his lap, trying to look casual as he took a drink. 

Wash noticed, though, and reached around Simmons to grab Church by the collar, dragging him towards him in spite of the other man’s protests. 

Simmons finished his drink, moving to go behind bar to wash his glass when South took it from his hand. She turned towards Grif, pointing an accusing finger. 

“It’s your turn to make sure The Ass-ets get to their vehicles, Grif.” She turned towards Wash, who was now defending himself from Church’s drunken manhandling. “And since Wash is stuck with Church, that leaves you with Simmons.” She jerked her head towards the door. “If you want the bar empty, you gotta make sure we can all actually leave.”

Grif grumbled his reply, grabbing a set of door keys from under the cash register. He motioned for Simmons to follow him as he made his way to the back door of the club, opening it and letting in a gust of heavy late summer air. Simmons followed him out into the dim street lighting. Grif pulled out a cigarette and leaned against the brick of the building as Simmons rummaged through his gym bag for his keys. 

“You realize you don’t have to lug your stuff to and from work, right? That’s the reason we have lockers that, you know, lock.” Grif said, pausing between drags. 

Simmons nodded. “I know, but I like keeping all of my stuff with me. Besides, the clothes I wear here always smell like other people and booze by the end of the night. I’m not a far of crotch funk, personally, so I try and toss these into the laundry when I get home. Nobody wants to pay for a stripper that doesn’t strip  _ and _ smells bad.”

Grif laughed. “Fair enough.” He took a long pull, and flicked ash onto the sidewalk. “You work tomorrow?”

Simmons shook his head. “No. No more Monday nights for me. Kai asked me to work more weekends in exchange for a few less nights a week.”

Grif finished his cigarette, snuffing the butt out under his heel. “Not a bad deal. I’ll see you around then.” 

Simmons waved goodbye, but even with his back turned, he knew Grif hadn’t gone inside. He knew he wouldn’t until Simmons had locked his car doors and started the engine. He had his suspicions confirmed when he slid into the driver’s seat and Grif was leaning exactly where he had been before, a freshly lit cigarette between his fingers. He back out of his parking space, cursing under his breath. He could flirt with men twice his age, sit in their laps and promise to let them carry him off to lavish vacations, but he couldn’t flirt with the fucking bartender he’d had a crush on since he had started at Gulch two years prior. Fucking fantastic. 


	2. On My Body

Monday nights at Gulch were boring. Grif always found himself pacing around behind bar, hoping one of the dancers would join him so he could have someone to talk to other than the sad middle aged men who always wanted his attention. Simmons would, but he had given up his Monday nights. Grif couldn’t blame him. Only Church liked working the floor on weeknights, and that was only because he loved the attention. 

Watching Church perform was...lackluster. He relied too heavily on how he looked, didn’t put any sort of effort into his actual movements. It was like watching Magic Mike, but if Mike were actually a middle aged man who got dumped by his girlfriend every two weeks. Compared to Simmons, Church was downright boring. Simmons was awkward as hell once his shift ended, usually slipping out the back door before anybody could notice he had even changed out. But on stage, the kid was something else. Every move he made was calculated, picked specifically to put his body on display, to entice his clients. It worked. According to Kai, he pulled in more regulars than Church or Tucker. And Grif understood why. He had lost count of the number of times he had missed an order, spilled a drink, or fumbled over his words because he could see Simmons perform out of the corner of his eye. 

When Simmons had first started, it hadn’t been an issue. Working in an LGBT club made it easier. Grif could only be so distracted by the red head if there were a handful of other good looking men to watch. But after the first year, Grif’s ability to ignore him had worn thin, especially with how much the kid was behind his bar, chatting with South and flirting with the customers, fumbling as she showed him how to mix drinks. The more nights he spent flirting across the bar, the better he got at bartending. Girf had had to kick him out one night simply because it wasn’t fair that he had a hot guy in booty shorts nimbly mixing drinks next to him, and he couldn’t flirt with him to save his life.

Felix was an unexpected complication. He came in every Saturday, same smug look on his face, same wad of cash in his pocket. Stupid fucking trust fund baby. Every time Grif saw Simmons sitting on his lap, Felix’s hand wrapped around his waist, he felt his stomach turn. The dude was bad news, anyways. It wasn’t just jealousy. It was only, like, 90% jealousy. The other 10% was concern. Which didn’t seem like an unfair mix. 

Grif had watched Wash kick Felix out of the club enough times to know the guy was a piece of shit without even having to talk to him. Kai didn’t tolerate after hours offers. Neither did Simmons. But the kid was so quiet, no one knew if he actually would do it, if he could be talked into it, if he actually needed the cash. Grif wanted to ask, but what was he supposed to even say? 

The thought spiral continued until South threw a rag at him. 

“Dude. We have customers. Like, not a lot of them. But still.” She pointed to the three droopy looking people sitting at the bar. 

“You can’t handle them?” Grif snapped. South’s face clouded. Shit. 

“No. I can’t. Because Kai wants me backstage to help with a performer having a fucking moment, and we’re out of vodka, which you were supposed to bring up from the locker like ten minutes ago. So, no, Dexter, I cannot. But you can. Good luck, batchass.” She slammed past him, shoving a glass in his hand as she went. 

Grif went back to focusing on his job, ignoring the pounding music that meant Church had started performing. So not his bi-weekly meltdown, then. Solid. Maybe Kai wouldn’t fire him for the thousandth time. Or maybe she would, for funsies. 

The night stayed slow, an easy rhythm of old men, older women, and sad college kids. By the time the club was closing, Grif had all but finished his closing tasks. He was out the back door by the time Kai had even bothered to lock up. Simmons was leaning where Grif usually smoked. 

“Thought you were off?” Grif asked, shuffling on his feet and pulling out a cigarette. 

“I was, am. Kai called me because one of her new guys was having a panic attack, she wanted me to talk to him.” Simmons shrugged. “Figured I owed her one. Tucker did the same for me.”

Grif nodded. “I remember. God, you were such a kid when you started. Were you even twenty-one  yet? Christ.”

“Nope. Turned three weeks after starting, though. So only the first, like, dozen shots you gave me were technically illegal. If that helps at all.”

“You know, not really. I like to think I can spot underage twinks when I see them. Guess I’m not as good as I thought.” Grif laughed. 

“Nah, I just got really good at looking older. You don’t make any money if clients think they’re cradle robbers. They like the idea of it, but the legal implications? No fucking way.” Simmons grabbed at Grif’s half finished cigarette, snuffing it out. 

“ A: Rude, and B: Fair. It probably helps that everybody looked more at your ass then they did at your face.”

“Does that everybody include you? Because if the thought follows, it definitely does.” Simmons smiled up at him, smug.

“Guess it does, Mr. Bootyshorts.” Grif shifted closer, and dismissed the thought of grabbing another cigarette. He could do without. 

“Please, like you don’t love the shorts. Like you don’t stare at my ass every time I come behind the bar.” Simmons leaned flat against the wall, tipping his head back against it. 

“You saying you spending half your night behind bar isn’t an intentional thing?” Grif challenged, moving closer. 

“Please. Who is there to impress?” Simmons reached forward, grabbing the pack of cigs from Grif’s pocket, and lit one. He took a slow drag, and let the smoke curl out from his lips. 

Grif pushed forward, grabbing the cig and dropping it to the ground before cupping Simmons’ jaw. 

He paused, one hand braced on the bricks. Simmons was looking up at him, a smirk on his face. 

“So that’s your thing? Me getting lung cancer? Good to know.” And with that, he pulled Grif down to him.

Simmons tasted like smoke and diet coke, but his mouth was warm and pliant as his whole body curved into Grif’s touch. Moving his hand from the wall to Simmons’ hip, Grif pushed him back, pressed himself along Simmons’ body. In the summer heat, he felt like he had a fever. 

Grif bit at his lower lip, and the sound Simmons made in response pushed him back.

“Is that  _ your _ thing?” He asked, licking his lips and tasting smoke. 

Simmons flushed down to his chest, looking away. “Fuck you, man.”

“I mean, that’s definitely on the table here. Although I’ve gotta be honest, I’d prefer it the other way around.” Grif down to Simmons’ neck, bit along his jawline, pulled his shirt aside and bit down at the joint between his neck and shoulder. It elicited the same noise, something high and soft and  _ needy _ . 

_ Teeth.  _ He thought.  _ More teeth.  _ He bit down again, sucking skin between his teeth and tasting salt. Simmons thumped a fist against the wall, a chuckle starting deep in his chest. 

“Don’t mark up the merchandise, dude. I’ve gotta eat.” He sounded breathy, softened around the edges. His hand fisted in Grif’s hair, pulling him to eye level. “My place?” He offered, soft. Grif shook his head. 

“Mine. I’ve got good sound proofing. And I don’t know about you, but I’m not quiet.” Grif slid a hand under Simmons’ shirt and scratched his nails gently down his spine. The noise the other man made could only be translated as  _ unfair _ . 

“I’ll drive.” Grif said, and pulled away.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fuck my life, fam. Writers block is a bitch. Sorry for the not-quite-smut. I'll write more soon. Send me requests for story content in this? Bc this was based off of mine and a friends headcanons and im out of ideas lol  
> Hope you enjoyed!

**Author's Note:**

> you can find me in my pit of shame at pungentlygay on tumblr


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